


Just Leave, Go

by Lizlow



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Mentorship, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Lizlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing he can't forget, it's losing one of the most important people in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Leave, Go

“Just leave, go.”

Words stung, bee strings on the heart, leaving welts andrashes in the soul. It took three minutes to register and, by that time, the other was screaming it. It was difficult to hear, he wouldn’t have it. Not his mentor, not his friend, not the most  _important_ person in his life outside of his family.

“Choutarou,” Shishido said, as calm as he could. “Retreat.” Set in his words, he’d hear no protest.

It was just like Shishido, Ootori told himself, ‘ _Always caring.’_ Really, he was afraid. The strong but sweet boy wasn’t completely prepared for this but there he was. He hid, the long, silver, and cold barrel in this hands merely empathizing in display his fear.

He thought to count to five and run out shooting but that would blow his cover and sentence him to death – not to mention that it would really get Shishido in trouble. He didn’t want that. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle that.

Ootori waited for a moment before realizing that Shishido was whispering something.

“Forgive me, Choutarou. It’s dangerous,” he said this repeatedly, as if asking for external forgiveness, as if making sure Ootori could hear it clearly – the pain around them.

“Retreat,” Shishido spoke again. There were bullet sounds around them. Screams, falling, the stinging in Ootori’s chest came flooding back with a sonic punch. His breathing quickened as Shishido shifted, giving a thumbs up and grinning, apprehension obvious in his confident features.

Something was about to go wrong, horribly wrong. The look Shishido gave after was that of valor and honor. Ootori recognized it as his “sacrifice” look. Shishido would give up his time – his world – to better the lives of others. It was valiance, heroism at its finest.

No one deserved this – not this warfare – yet Shishido took it upon himself to take care of so much by himself. Shishido had grown tremendously; Ootori found a mentor in him. Mentorship… didn’t some stories, some songs, hint at tragedy?

“Shishido-san, I-“

“Don’t argue, Choutarou.”

“-can’t…” Ootori completed his sentence, dirt flying on impact around them. The cold in Shishido’s voice, Ootori was aware that Shishido had already weighed the costs. It was now or never, and Shishido couldn’t pick never. Not for the good of others. Not for the best for Ootori. This  _would_  be solved; the resolution teased them with the malicious bite of risks, the icy scythe of Death himself.

War was cruel. Soldiers called for retreat, a regroup so they didn’t entirely fail, but enemies weren’t willing to allow the fleeing of their opposition easily.  The mission couldn’t go out in vain. Ootori knew that Shishido could – and would – change the course of the battle. He’d do it. Sacrifice meant the liberation of all.

Ootori couldn’t move; he could hardly breathe. Everything went in slow motion as Shishido took up arms, said one more thing, and made a dash for it. He dodged and shot, his confidence inspiring others to join him. It was awe striking but Ootori still couldn’t budge. His hands were clammy, his gun slipped from his hands. Everything was  _so_  slow, like reality was knocked out him with a single strike. Darn he turn? Could he manage it?

Shishido’s words echoed in Ootori’s head as Shishido cried out in pain, shouting, “That was lame aim!”

 _“Just leave, go.”_  Ootori repeated, looking down, eyes shut.

 _Bang!_  Another shot that didn’t whirl by into the dirt. “Is that all you got? Heh, I can knock you down more!” Shishido said, the soldiers that joined him affirmed his battle cries.

_“Forgive me, Choutarou. It’s dangerous… Retreat! Retreat.”_

“Heh… it’ll still… take more… than that…” Shishido grunted as another shot was fired. Ootori covered his ears, not wanting to hear what came next.

 _“Don’t be lame, Choutarou. Grow up and do what I can’t. Don’t waste it,_ ” Ootori thought, those last words being the thing Shishido said to him before he ran. Ootori shook even more removing his hands from his ears for a mere, split second to hear a _Thud!_  and shouts of the enemies finally leaving the scene.

“Shishido-san!” Other soldiers had let out. Ootori couldn’t take it. War wasn’t for him. He shouldn’t have let Shishido go like that. He shouldn’t have… ‘ _Shishido-san… I’m sorry…’_

Ootori thought, tears forming, hands clutching the cross that hung from his neck, before his consciousness swayed from him, his mind shutting off.

~

Ootori awoke to the shaking of a fellow soldier, who kept saying, “Ootori-san. Ootori-san, please, if you’re with us, get up…” His eyes opened slowly. He was red, his face wet, and he was groggy He knew what happened: He passed out from stress.

“I’m fine, thank you very much…” He took a shaky stand, picking up his weapon. He knew the death toll was unfortunate, but they had won.  “Ah, where’s Shishido-san?”

The other remained quiet, turning away from Ootori. “I regret to inform you of this…” Ootori shut it out. He knew it. He had known when he asked but he thought if he wished it enough, it wouldn’t be true.

Shishido had gained them victory.

Ootori had wanted nothing more to do with war.

~

He played his instruments with profound grace, becoming well-known for his saddening but meaningful melodies. Rumors spread that it was because he had experienced the ultimate tragedy, but to what that tragedy was, no one could say.

He closed his eyes and played, fingers moving smoothly as he held his eyes closed. Was he crying? Was he so in tune with his music that he felt it too? There was much wonderment and amazement in trying to link together all the mysteries of his past.

A former soldier, retired for the memories that were instilled in his mind, retired for the lack of will he had to keep trying. Music was his solace, so it seemed.

The notes were played beautifully, taking with sound knowledge in their play. Gentle brown eyes shone with a deep solemn code. He gifted the world with his music.

The memories of his friend still vibrantly rewound themselves for him to recall, and he cringed at them. He, however, had to continue forward. He kept his worries, his pains, all to the music, the words turned into sounds. The sounds transformed into stories of ill-fated death, untimely ending.

He looked up, swearing that he could  _see_  Shishido in the crowd when he opened his eyes. He froze.

“Shishido-san, thank you… He whispered.

He missed Shishido.

The memories burned, sharp stabbing in the heart, permanent bruises on the soul. They registered, but would never leave him. “ _Just leave, go.”_ The words constantly echoed back, and they’d never leave him.

**Author's Note:**

> Angst and more Silver character death fics. What fun I put myself through. Hope you enjoy.


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